Does it Need Saying?
by orchids117
Summary: The Doctor doesn't say "I love you" to those closest to him. At least, not in those words. Here are 6 times the Doctor said "I love you" without saying it at all.
1. Rose Tyler

**Disclaimer: All rights to Doctor Who belong to the BBC.**

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 **Chapter 1: Does it need saying?**

She's half way sure he doesn't love her. He knows she is—he's not so completely blind that he can't see that. He's not completely oblivious to the disappointment in her eyes that appears whenever he passes another opportunity by to say the words she so desperately wants to hear from him.

But how could she doubt it? Did she not see it every time his blue eyes sparkled with delight over her brilliance? Did she not notice when his fear so clearly broke through his bravado when the Daleks stole her from him at the Game Station? Did she not see it yet again in every one of the smiles that followed his regeneration? In any of the times he'd hold her hand or hug her just a little too tightly and just a tad too long?

She must not have—because he can see it in her eyes now. That doubt. That look leaves him with a nauseous feeling in his stomach and a thickness in his throat that he can't seem to swallow down. Because that look is his fault. He'd been so sure for so long that she could see it that he'd convinced himself that the words weren't really necessary. But he was constantly forgetting that—despite their quaint saying that "actions speak louder than words"—humans still craved verbal declarations of strong emotions.

But he's lost all of his chances. He's allowed too much time to pass by. And he can see it even if she can't—how much she's grown. She's outgrown him. He would only drag her down now. She'd been his light at the darkest point in his long life, and he knew he couldn't allow himself to taint that light any longer. She needed to continue to grow, and he would only pull her back. He would never say that he wasn't a selfish man. Quite the contrary, he knew he was as selfish as they come, but he couldn't be selfish with her. Not her.

He knew even as he stepped out onto that wretched beach that he would hate himself for what he was about to do for as long as his hearts continued beating. Because this would be the most selfish thing he would ever do. He was going to leave her behind. Again. To make that choice for her without her consent. And although he knew that act was ultimately selfish, he could rationalize it to himself by saying that there was at least a certain level of nobility in it. He was giving her a life with a man who could live the one adventure he never could. Domesticity.

That's what he was going to tell himself anyway.

"Hold on…this is the parallel universe right?" When she turns to face him, he sees it. That look that always twists up his hearts. That disappointment in her eyes.

He calmly explains to her why she should stay but she's having none of it. And it's all he can do to keep from smiling at her. She's just as stubborn as he remembers. She wouldn't be the woman he…well. She wouldn't be _Rose_ if she wasn't.

And then she says something that breaks his hearts.

"But he's not _you_."

He tries to show her what he's trying to do for her. He tries to explain the gift he's trying to give her without giving away the reason why. Because he knows that if she knew how he truly felt about her, she'd never allow him to leave her behind.

And then he sees it—hope. There's that glimmer he's longed to see in her eyes. That light that kept him afloat for so long when all he wanted to do was sink in his darkness.

The TARDIS calls out to him. It's time to go. The walls were closing between the dimensions for good this time. He and Donna needed to be on the right side when they did.

He thinks that they're going to make a clean get away until he hears her running after him. His hearts sink at the thought that he'll have to face her again. That he'll have to thoroughly break her heart to show her what he's trying to say with this gift he's trying to give her.

"But it's not right," she tells him with that stubborn look on her face. "Cos the Doctor…the Doctor is still you."

"And I'm him," he says with a nod to the metacrisis.

She stares at him for a moment and then straightens up. "Alright then. Both of you answer me this. When I last stood on this beach—on the worst day of my life—what was the last thing you said to me?" She looks to him with a challenge in her eyes. "Go on. Say it."

And there's that hope. That hope he'll once again have to crush.

"I said, "Rose Tyler"," he says flatly, and wonders how she doesn't see it now. Despite his best efforts, he knows it's written all over his face. She must see it—she must. She was too clever not to.

But she doesn't. And that breaks his hearts all over again.

"Yeah," she says. "And how was that sentence gonna end?"

He swallows and for a moment—just the smallest of seconds—he allows everything he's keeping a tight hold on inside to break through.

"Does it need saying?" he rasps, and silently pleads with her to see it. Just once. Just this one time.

But he sees that disappointment flare up in her eyes, and in that moment she breaks him completely. She turns to the other man. "And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?"

Her use of his name when addressing the metacrisis shouldn't hurt him. Not when he's just spent the last ten minutes trying to convince her that the two of them were the same. And yet, it does. It leaves him breathless—as though she's just punched him straight through his chest to his hearts.

The other Doctor glances at him, and then leans in to whisper in her ear. And he knows when Rose looks up at her new, new, new Doctor that he's lost her.

He swallows hard when her lips press against the other Doctor's, and turns to leave.

He's gone before she even notices he's walked away.


	2. Martha Jones

**Chapter 2: You Saved the World.**

He shouldn't be surprised really. He's known this day would come.

He knew the second she stepped onboard that she was leaving him. It was written all over her face. It was in the way she stood—shoulders back, feet planted, eyes determined yet sympathetic. He should let her speak her piece, but he's babbling anyway. Anything to hold off the loneliness for just a little bit longer.

"Right then!" He's on his feet in a second to start the flight sequence. Because maybe if he starts the sequence before she speaks she won't leave. Maybe she'll let temptation rule her just one more time. It's worked before. "Off we go! The open road! There's a burst of star fire right now over the coast of Meta Sigmafolio. Oh, the sky is like oil on water. Fancy a look?"

He stares in her eyes for a moment, and it's _there_. That look he knows all too well by now. That's a goodbye in her eyes.

But he's off again before she can say anything. "Or…back in time. We could…I dunno." He's slowly walking around the console now as he undoes the start up to the flight sequence. Because she's leaving, and he can see by the set of her jaw that he's not going to stop her. She's outgrown him during their year apart. She's become a much stronger person than the Martha he once knew. This Martha won't allow herself to give in to the temptation all of time and space provides. He knows he should stop talking now. He should let her say what she's come to say. He owes her at least that.

But he forces himself to keep talking. Because once she's gone he'll be alone again. Alone in this big empty ship with all of its ghosts—all the people he's lost during his long life. And as much as he respects her decision, he desperately wants to keep her around.

"Charles II?" he suggests weakly. "Henry VIII?" His attempts at piquing her curiosity are becoming increasingly feeble. Because who is he to stop her from leaving? What was here to make her stay? All of time and space, yes, but what else? Constant adventure won't be enough for her anymore, he knows that. Not after the ordeal she's just had. But he can't give her what she wants.

He's an alien, but he's not daft. He'd known right from the start that he was leading her on, but he couldn't make himself deal with her infatuation properly. He was too selfish—too afraid she'd leave him if she knew the truth.

He wanted to laugh at himself for that thought. She was leaving him anyway. There was never anything he could have done to stop the inevitable from happening. From the moment she stepped on the TARDIS, her days with him were numbered. He'd always known he would eventually lose her. Whether it be by her own volition or due to his cowardly nature didn't really matter in the end.

"I know!" he shouts with new energy. He can't let her see his defeat now. "What about Agatha Christie? I'd love to meet Agatha Christie! I bet she's brilliant!"

He gives her a wide beaming smile, but it fades when she doesn't return it. He can't keep this charade going forever.

"Okay," he says, and there's a finality to the word that leaves him just a little bit hollow.

She finally steps closer to him. "I just can't."

He nods, but avoids her eyes. "Yeah."

She half smiles at him, and jerks her head towards the front doors. "Spent all these years training to be a doctor. Now I've got people to look after. They saw half the planet slaughtered and they're devastated. I can't leave them."

He swallows. What about him? He just lost the last remaining link to his people. He was truly alone in the universe now. What would he do without her?

He looks down at her, and it's like he's seeing her for the first time. She's beautiful, his Martha Jones. He doesn't mean that in the physical sense, although he's sure that's true too. But it's really her soul that he finds himself so enraptured by. It's still there in her eyes—that fierce look of loyalty. It's directed towards her family now, he knows that, but if he thinks back far enough he can recall a handful of times when that look was directed towards him. How has he not seen that before?

He knows why he hasn't seen it before. It's because he wasn't _looking_ at her. Properly looking. Because if he'd seen her, even for a moment, he would have known immediately how much he cared for her.

He wants to tell her now—that he does, truly, care—but it's too late. It's far too late. The best way he could show her that now would be to let her go.

"Of course not," he says in answer to her declaration of loyalty, and then he smiles at her. Because she's so strong—she's one of the strongest people he's ever known. She saved the whole world all on her own, for Rassilon's sake, and him in the process. And oh, looking back he sees it now. All the ways she's saved him since the day they met.

What was he going to do without her?

He hugs her tightly—far more tightly than he can recall ever hugging her before. Because he suddenly sees it. He doesn't know how, and he doesn't know when, but somewhere along the way he genuinely started to care for her. Somewhere down the line she stopped being a filler for the hole that the loss of Rose had left in his hearts and had started carving her own space. And now that she'd thoroughly embedded herself into his hearts, she was leaving.

And he has to let her. He knows he does. To do anything else would be an insult to her. And he has far too much respect for her to betray her loyalty in such a way.

"Thank you," he tells her fervently. And then he gives her what must be the first genuine smile he's given her since they met. "Martha Jones. You saved the world."

And it's there in his words—everything he's trying to tell her, but can't.

She smiles back up at him. "Yes, I did. I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best, but you know what?" She nods to herself. "I am good."

He couldn't be more proud to hear her say that out loud.

She cocks her head at him and he sees a brief flash of worry cross her face. "You gonna be alright?"

He quickly nods. "Always. Yeah."

"Right, then," she says, and then stands up on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek before she turns to leave.

He watches her go with a proud smile on his face, and turns to the console once the doors have shut.

Onwards and upwards.


	3. Donna Noble

**Thank you's go out to the guest and Tanba Josav, for your reviews on last chapter.**

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 **Chapter 3: It Was the Best.**

She knows what's coming next.

He knows she knows, because she's got his mind inside of her head. There's no way she can't see it. But he doesn't want to rush the inevitable, so he leans up against one of the coral struts and waits.

"I thought we could try the planet Felspoon. Just cos. What a good name! Felspoon! Apparently, it's got mountains that sway in the breeze. _Mountains_ that _move_ , can you imagine?"

His hearts break a little at the wonder in her voice. That was where he was going to take them next.

"And how do you know that?" he asks, and has to clear his throat.

"Because it's in your head," she says with a beaming smile. "And if it's in your head, it's in mine!"

"And how does that feel?"

She doesn't even skip a beat as she spins around the console away from him, all the while pressing buttons and levers to start the flight sequence. A combination she shouldn't know.

"Brilliant! Fantastic! Molto bene! Great big universe, packed into my brain!" She stops and leans up against the console. "You know, you could fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot binding the fragment-links and superseding the binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary—" She finally stops to take a breath. "I'm fine," she says, but her voice is shaky.

He hasn't moved from his coral strut. Any moment now it'll be too much for her. Any moment now he'll have to walk over there and destroy the woman she's become—effectively killing who she is—but he'll wait until the breakdown of her neurons forces his hand.

She waves a hand once she's fully recovered. "Nah, never mind Felspoon. Know who I'd like to meet?" Her eyes light up again as she continues around the console. "Charlie Chaplin! I bet he's great, Charlie Chaplin. Shall we do that? Shall we go and see Charlie Chaplin?" He can hear the strain in her voice again—she's losing her grip on herself and it's breaking his hearts. "Shall we? Charlie Chaplin?"

He swallows down another hard lump in his throat. Because that _would_ be brilliant. Meeting Charlie Chaplin with his best mate by his side and going to Felspoon for drinks afterwards, maybe. Running across the universe with her next to him.

She's made him better. He can't deny that. For the first time since Rose, he's felt like he's alive. She effectively yanked him out of the dark hole he's been stuck in and forced him to quit brooding over things he can't change. She's made him genuinely smile and laugh for the first time in ages. She's listened to him during his darkest nights, and rescued him from his spiral of self destruction. If she hadn't come along there was no telling what he would've become.

And now he was going to lose her. And it just wasn't fair.

He can see the pain in her eyes when her neurons once again get caught in a loop. "Charlie Chester, Charlie Brown, no, he's fiction. Friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton—" She breaks the cycle with a loud gasp and leans against the console heavily as she reaches up to cradle her head.

He slowly walks over towards her. The pain must be too much for her by now. She's dying.

"Oh my God!" she shrieks.

"Do you know what's happening?" His voice sounds empty. Even to him.

She glares down at the console. "Yeah." And there's his Donna—all stubborn defiance.

"There's never been a human-Time Lord Metacrisis before now. And you know why." It's not a question. It's like she said—anything in his head was in hers. And that's the problem.

The defiance drains from her face and is replaced by a sadness that threatens to crush him. "Because there can't be."

Quick as the defiance left her face, it's back, and she's turning away from him to flick switches on the console.

"I want to stay," she says in a desperate tone.

"Look at me," he says in a soft voice. "Donna. Look at me."

She finally stops what she's doing and slowly turns to look at him with tears in her eyes. "I was gonna be with you… _forever_ ," she says.

His hearts melt for her. "I know," he says gently. He doesn't need to tell her that they all say that. She knows. She must also know that it simply isn't possible.

"Rest of my life," she says wistfully. "Traveling in the TARDIS…the Doctor Donna."

He can only just catch a glimpse of it—the timeline that could never be. What would happen if she stayed. It would have been marvelous. Amazing. Brilliant.

He stares at her with all of the compassion he can muster. Because she deserves that, his Donna. She deserves everything she's asking for, and the simple fact that it can never be destroys him just as much as it does her. Maybe even more so.

Her eyes widen when he starts to approach her. "No! Oh my god…I can't go back," she says with fear in her eyes as he gets closer. "Don't make me go back," she pleads. "Doctor, please, please—don't make me go back!"

He stops his approach and looks into her eyes with everything he's feeling in his hearts. Because even if she won't remember him, she deserves to know just how much he cares for her—how much she means to him.

"Donna," he says in a voice that's barely above a whisper. "Oh, Donna Noble. I am so sorry. But we had the best of times. The best."

She's shaking her head at him as the tears leak out of her eyes. "No," she pleads. "No."

"Goodbye," he whispers.

"No, no, no, please!"

His fingers reach her temples, and he closes his eyes to block out the exact moment when the recognition leaves her face. He can hear her pleading with him to stop as he goes through the memories and carefully locks each one away in the darkest corners of her mind where they'll never escape.

She finally goes unconscious and falls into his arms. He holds her tightly to keep her from falling all the way to the floor and takes in a deep breath.

"It really was the best," he whispers, and gently lowers her to the floor so he can input the coordinates to take her home.


	4. Amelia Pond

**Many thanks to Tanba Josav, for your review on last chapter.**

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 **Chapter 4: Come Along, Pond.**

Everything is fine.

The relief makes his hearts pound out a disjointed rhythm as he kisses both of their foreheads and runs back to the TARDIS to help River with the cleanup.

"It could do with a repaint," River comments as the two of them wipe down the TARDIS doors.

"I've been busy," he says, but the wheels are already turning in his head. It would be perfect—the four of them all together to help repaint his old girl. They could have a rare family night together.

And that thought leaves a weird feeling in his chest. Is this who he's become? A family man? It's been so long since he's had anything like that, and there's a reason for it. The mere thought of ever starting over again has only ever brought back memories he'd rather never revisit. There's a reason that he doesn't do "domestic" anymore.

And yet, here he is. The Doctor. Husband and son-in-law to the Ponds. A man with a family. And the strangest part? He doesn't mind. Not one bit.

"Does the bulb on top need changing?"

"Just changed it."

River glances back at her parents. "So. Rory and Amy, then."

He rolls his eyes at her tone of voice. He knows what's coming. "Yes, I know. I know."

She smirks at him. She knows he'll already say yes to whatever she's thinking. "I'm just saying. They're going to get terribly bored hanging 'round here all day."

He turns to look at the Ponds again, only to find them walking towards the TARDIS.

"Next time can we just go to the pub?" Rory asks with an edge of exasperation in his voice.

"I want to go to the pub right now," he shoots back, although he's not exactly all that interested. What was one actually supposed to do in a pub? "Are there videogames there?" he asks. "I love videogames."

"Right," he hears River say. "Family outing, then."

His hearts flutter over her words.

He rushes into the TARDIS to search for the best pub in this corner of the galaxy. After the ordeal his Ponds just went through they deserved nothing but the best.

"Doctor, I have a feeling Rory won't appreciate a pub on Graxila." River quickly undoes his flight sequence and inputs one of her own.

He checks her coordinates. "Ah, no! London? But that's _boring_."

"Doctor!"

Amy's tone makes him rush out of the TARDIS in a panic. River is on his heels as they burst through the ship's doors. He stops in his tracks when his eyes move beyond Amy to the threat. A stray Angel.

"Ah!" he shouts, and he's in full panic mode now. His eyes quickly scan for Rory, but he's nowhere to be seen. Anxiety further takes hold of his hearts as he realizes what must have happened and all he can think about is getting his Amelia away from that creature.

"Where the hell did that come from?" River demands of no one.

He pulls out his sonic on autopilot and does a scan of the statue. He barely glances at the readings as he forces himself to move closer to Amy. "It's a survivor. Very weak, but keep your eyes on it."

"Where's Rory?" Amy asks, although he's sure she must know. Shock, that's what it is. Shock must be making it hard for her to keep up with what's happened.

He happens to glance over at a nearby gravestone, and what he sees written on it makes his hearts stop. _Rory Williams, aged 82._

No, this can't be happening.

He turns his attention back on Amy. "I'm sorry, Amelia. I'm so, so sorry." It's all he can offer her.

"No," Amy says defiantly, and shakes her head. "No, we can just go and get him in the TARDIS. One more paradox—"

"Would _rip_ New York apart, and I—"

Amy shakes her head violently. "No, that's not true," she says through the tears that are quickly flowing down her cheeks. "I don't believe you."

"Mother, it's true," he hears River say quietly, and he can hear the sorrow in her voice.

Amy shakes her head, and suddenly straightens up. His hearts stop once again when she starts to walk towards the Angel. She couldn't be thinking of letting it take her too, could she? She wouldn't leave him that way.

But it was Rory who had been taken. And if it meant there was even the smallest chance she could see her husband again, he was entirely sure Amy would let the Angel take her. He couldn't let that happen. He had to save at least one of them. She would hate him for it, but she would forgive him in the end. She always did.

"That gravestone, Rory's, there's room for one more name, isn't there?" she asks, and his hearts sink when his suspicions are confirmed.

He can see the stubborn determination in her eyes, but he can't let her do this. She's family. And the thought of never seeing her again is more than he can bear. "What are you talking about?" he hisses, and tries to grab her hand as he heads back for the TARDIS.

She yanks her hand away. "No!"

"Back away from the Angel!" he shouts as panic starts to get the best of him. "Come back to the TARDIS! We'll figure something out!" It's a lie and he knows it, but at the moment he doesn't care. He'll say anything to get her back into the ship where she belongs.

"The Angel, would it send me back to the same time?" she asks. "To him?" her voice breaks over her words.

"I don't know. Nobody knows!"

She takes another step towards the Angel. "But it's my best shot, yeah?"

He reaches out for her, but she's out of his reach now. "No!"

River runs to his side. "Doctor, shut up! Yes, yes, it is!"

He should've known she'd opt for Amy's mad plan. They were her parents, after all. Of course she'd want them to take every chance to be together. "Amy—"

"Well, then, I just have to blink, right?"

"No!" he shouts, but he knows it's out of his hands now. There's nothing he can do to save her. There's no way he can fix this.

"It'll be fine," Amy says, and he's sure she's directing that statement at him. "I know it will. I'll—I'll be with him. Like I should be. Me and Rory, together." He can hear the smile in her voice as she holds out her hand for River. "Melody."

"Stop it!" he shrieks, and he's looking to River now. She's the only one who can save Amy now. "Just—just stop it!"

He watches helplessly as Mother and Daughter join hands. "You look after him," Amy says in a tearful voice. "And you be a good girl and you look after him."

River leans down to kiss her mother's palm, but says nothing to stop her.

"You're creating a fixed point," he says in a desperate attempt to save her. "I will never be able to see you again."

Amy shakes her head at him without turning back to look. "I'll be fine. I'll be with him."

He suddenly feels his own tears spring to his eyes. He's lost her. She's too far gone, there's nothing he can do or say to save her now. "Amy, please. Just—come back into the TARDIS. Come along, Pond, _please._ "

And it's there. He's said those words thousands of times to her. Come along, Pond. And they'd run to the TARDIS so he could whisk her off to faraway planets all the way across the universe.

Not this time, though. He can feel it. She's finally planted her feet. This would be the resting place of Amelia Pond, and there's nothing he could say or do to change her mind.

She lets out a sob. "Raggedy man…." She turns to look at him, and he can see it in her eyes. All that he feels for her is reflected there in her irises. "Goodbye," she whispers, and disappears.

He glances at the gravestone, and lets out a furious cry.

 _And his loving wife Amelia Williams, aged 87._


	5. River Song

**Chapter 5: No, You Don't.**

If he's really being honest with himself, he knows the entirety of his relationship with River Song has been one long drawn out goodbye. It's just finally caught up with both of them now.

But he can't help but choke up just a little when he sees her waiting for him on the balcony. This was it—the big goodbye.

She smiles at him when she sees him. "Now that, my dear, _is_ a suit."

He smiles back at her. "Happy Christmas."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise as she accepts his gift. "Really? I don't think you've ever given me a present before." She quickly opens up the box to reveal the sonic he's so carefully crafted for her, and he feels his hearts flutter when her face lights up with delight. "Oh, it's a sonic screwdriver! How lovely!"

He shrugs. "When I saw the sonic trowel, I thought it was just embarrassing. But look!" He plucks the sonic out of her hands to wave it around in demonstration.

Her smile softens as he hands it back to her. "Oh, thank you." She leans up to kiss both of his cheeks.

He blushes a little. He never knows what to say in these situations. "You look…er, amazing." That sounds good. Telling someone they look amazing is a compliment, isn't it? He honestly doesn't know.

River rolls her eyes at him. "Doctor, you have no idea whether I look amazing or not."

"Well, you've moved your hair about, haven't you?" He waves his hands about to try to keep himself from showing just how flustered and off-balance he feels, but he's sure it's not working. She always knows how to see right through him.

She gives him a fond smile for his efforts. "Well done. It's very sweet of you to try."

He grins, and then turns his attention to the sight they came here for. "So what do you think? Of the Singing Towers?" He waves his hand towards the spectacle, and watches her.

In all his years he's never gotten over the look of wonder that crosses the faces of the people he travels with when they see something extraordinary. It was the only way he could see the beauty in the universe anymore—through their fresh eyes.

But now, as he watches his wife gaze upon the towers while the sun sets, he feels an overwhelming wave of sorrow overtake his hearts. Because this would be their very last night together. And no matter how long it was, it would still never be enough time for him. It would be over in the blink of an eye. And then she would be gone, and he would never see that look of utter amazement on her face ever again.

"Oh, the music. Listen to it," she says, and the sounds that are being carried across the wind from the towers finally reach his ears.

He swallows as the song echoes through the air, and feels a couple dewy drops touch his face.

She turns to him then, and her expression morphs into shock. "Are you crying?"

He shakes his head and wipes away the tears. "No. Just the wind."

"Nothing's ever just the wind," she retorts.

He raises his eyebrows. "No?" He leans over the guardrail to point at the towers. "Ever wondered why the towers sing? The wind blows through the cave system and harmonizes with the crystal layer. That's how the music is created."

"Why are you sad?" she asks softly.

He turns his eyes back on her. "Why are _you_ sad?"

She sucks in her cheeks at his childish retort. "I told you, my diary's nearly full. I worry."

He feels it when his expression softens into the look he reserves only for her. "Please don't," he whispers. He doesn't want her to be afraid of what's coming next.

She stares at him. "There are stories about us, you know."

He chuckles. "Oh, I dread to think."

"I look them up sometimes."

"You really shouldn't do that," he tells her with an edge of exasperation in his voice.

She continues talking like she didn't hear him. "Some of them suggest that the very last night we spend together is at the Singing Towers of Darillium. That wouldn't be true, would it?"

And there it is. Hope. There's that slight lilt in her voice as she asks her question. It's almost a plea. As if she already knows the stories are true and she's begging him to change it. To fix this.

He swallows. He can't fix this. Everything has its time. Every story has to end, or nothing would ever begin. There was nothing that could change that.

He answers her question the only way he can.

"Spoilers."

There are tears in her eyes now. She turns back towards the towers and grips the railing just a little too tightly. "Oh. Well, that would explain why you kept canceling coming here. Do you remember that time—"

"River, stop," he begs.

"When there were two of you—"

"Don't," he says in a more firm tone.

"Because I want you to know that if this is the last night, I expect you to find a way around it."

And there it is. Why did people always assume he had the final say over everything? Some things just couldn't be _fixed_. Some things had to happen.

He lets out a slow breath. "Not everything can be avoided. Not forever."

She lets out a breathy laugh. "But you're _you_. There's always a loophole. You wait until the last minute and then you spring it on me."

He should stop doing that to people. He loves the dramatic flair it gives the situation, but it always leaves them with expectations he just can't meet all of the time.

He sighs heavily. "Every night is the last night for something. Every Christmas is the last Christmas."

"But you will," she insists, and he closes his eyes against her pleas as if doing so will block them out somehow. "You'll wait until I've given up hope. All will be lost, and you'll do that smug little smile and then you'll save the day. You always do."

Not always. He can recall many a time where he's failed the ones he cares for the most. "No, I don't. Not always. Times end, River," he says, and finally looks at her. "Because they have to. Because there's no such thing as a happy ever after. It's just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard."

When did he become so cynical? He used to be a man full of optimistic dreams. A man who believed that hope was the most powerful force in the world. Where had that man gone?

"No, Doctor, you're wrong," she says, and there's that stubborn light in her eyes. "Happy ever after doesn't mean forever. It just means time—a little time." Her gaze hardens as she stares at him. "But that's not the sort of thing you could ever understand, is it?"

He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and turns back towards the towers. "What do you think of the towers?"

"I love them," she says, but keeps her eyes on him.

"Then why are you ignoring them?"

She raises an eyebrow. "They're ignoring me. But then, you can't expect a monolith to love you back."

He snorts. "No, you can't. They've been there for millions of years. Through storms and floods and wars and time." He pauses for a moment, and they listen to the towers sing. "Nobody really understands where the music comes from. It's probably something to do with the precise positions—the distance between both towers." He shrugs. "Even the locals aren't sure. All anyone will ever tell you is that when the wind stands fair and the night is perfect—when you least expect it, but always when you need it most—there is a song."

He looks at her then, and she must know what he's really talking about.

Her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. "So, assuming tonight is all we have left—"

"I didn't say that."

She raises her eyebrows all the way to her hairline then, and there it is again—hope. "How long is a night on Darillium?"

He finally allows his lips to pull up into a crooked smirk. "Twenty-four years."

She blinks, and then lets out a hysterical laugh through the tears that finally break through and fall on her face. "I hate you," she says, and shakes her head at him.

His gaze softens as he takes her hand.

"No, you don't."


	6. Clara Oswald

**This is the end, I'm afraid. Many thanks go out to anyone who's read this little story of mine. Thank you's also go out to Doctor712, for your review on last chapter.**

 **Please enjoy this final installment. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: I Have a Duty of Care.**

The Doctor is dead. Has been dead for a very long time now. Since before he was trapped in the confession dial. He'd go so far as to say the moment that the Doctor died was when Clara Oswald took her last breath.

But here she is—huddled in the darkness of the Cloisters with him—breathing. And still, he can't quite make himself come back to life. He'd known at the very start of all of this that he was going to have to sacrifice everything to save her. He'd accepted that long ago.

He would gladly destroy himself if that meant Clara Oswald was still breathing.

The door that lead to the lift he's trying to access finally opens and he finishes off the story about the confession dial he's been telling her to pass the time. "You can break through anything, given time."

"How much time?" she asks, and he doesn't dare look into her eyes.

"Miss Oswald."

Her expression grows furious as she whips around to confront the voice. "Stay back," she hisses.

The General doesn't listen. "I'm sorry, but we have to find a way to extract you."

"I said stay back!" she shouts, and holds up a hand in their direction.

The General and his companion, Ohila, stop in their tracks. He feels that sparkle in his eyes. He couldn't be more proud of his Clara—of the commanding force that she is.

She turns back to him. "The Hybrid, what is it? What's so important you would fight for so long?"

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what the Hybrid is. It only matters that I convinced them that I knew. Otherwise they'd have kicked me out." He shrugs. "I'd have had nothing left to bargain with."

She raises her eyebrows at him. "What are you bargaining for?"

He blinks at her. How could she not know?

Do they never know? He has to wonder. How could they—those he travels with—not understand how much he cares for them. What he's willing to do to protect them. He shows them every chance he gets—how do they never see it?

"What do you think?" he asks, but she only stares at him blankly. " _You_. I had to find a way to save you. I knew it had to be the Time Lords. They cost you your life on Trap Street, Clara, and I was going to make them bring you back." He looks down at the hatch underneath them. "I just had to hang on in there for a bit."

"How long?" she asks again, and it's barely a whisper.

He refuses to look at her. He knows that if she looks in his eyes she'll see it. She'll see just how old they are. She can't know. "It was fine."

She stares at him for a moment before jumping to her feet and turning around to face Ohila and the General. "One question; and you will answer me honestly. How long was the Doctor trapped inside of the confession dial?"

Ohila purses her lips. "We think…four and a half billion years." Her voice makes him stiffen, and he has to force himself to keep his hands busy.

Clara slowly turns back around to face him again, and he looks up at her with trepidation. She'll be angry with him, he knows that. Her forehead will get all veiny and her eyes will turn stormy and he just can't bear to see that look directed at him right now.

He's surprised when he sees that instead of anger, there are tears in her eyes. "Four and a half billion years?"

He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage. "If she says so."

She drops to her knees in front of him. "No. Why would you even do that?" She grabs his shoulder and shoves him. "I was dead! I was dead and gone. Why?" She grabs his shoulders again and shakes him angrily. "Why would you even do that to yourself?"

How could she possibly not know?

He stares at her, and there's that anger he was looking for. It's written all across her face now.

"I had a duty of care," he says simply. As if he's stating an obvious fact.

They stare at each other for a moment, and he sees something shift in her eyes. If she didn't know before, she does now. She knows now just how far he's willing to go for her—just how much he…how much he cares about her.

He turns back to his task. "Listen, I'm nearly through here." There's a clanging sound that comes up from underneath them. "If I'm right, there should be a service duct under here. We'll be able to get to the old workshops. They have TARDIS' there."

She swallows, and lays a hand over his. "Okay, listen. I have something I need to say."

He shakes his head. He knows where she's going with this, but there's no time for it. He needs to get her out of here _now_. "We do not have time." And oh, the irony of him uttering that statement will never pass him by. He, a Time Lord, out of time. What a joke.

"No!" She shifts closer to him. "My time," she rasps, "my time is up, Doctor. Between one heartbeat and the last is all the time I have." She sniffs, and he feels her fingers curl around his hand. "People like me and you—we should say things to one another. And I'm going to say them now."

And she does.

 _Fin._


End file.
